


Distraction

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-04
Updated: 2005-04-04
Packaged: 2019-05-15 11:18:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14789519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Amy's looking for attention





	Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

   


 

**Distraction**

**by: Cath**

**Character(s):** Josh, Donna, Amy  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna  
**Category(s):** Vignettes  
**Rating:** CHILD  
**Summary:** Amy's looking for attention. 

She saunters into his office, stands in front of his desk. 

"It's my first day. You should offer to take me out for drinks," she tells him. 

He looks up from his work, puzzled. "Didn't you start working for the First Lady, like... I dunno, some day that wasn't today?" 

She looks at him, disapproving of his reaction. "It's my first day at the *White House*, Josh. It would be a nice gesture for you to offer to take me out." 

"Don't you have people working in the East Wing who should take you out?" he asks. He hopes she'll leave soon. 

"They don't like me," she pouts. 

"Already?" He tries not to smirk. He doesn't succeed. 

"Some derogatory remarks were made implying that I slept my way into the White House." She picks up his pen, twirls it round her fingers. He watches. 

"Then we *really* shouldn't be seen together," he says. 

"I'm just saying, Josh. I don't know, some sort of offer of peace?" 

"I've got stuff to do, Amy. I'm busy... with stuff," he informs her. He takes the pen off her, looks pointedly at the overflowing inbox, and starts reading a document. 

"Stuff is your argument against taking me out?" She pouts again. He ignores it. 

"Well if you want a list or something..." 

"Don't play cute with me. I won't have you being cute." 

He sighs. He wonders why she won't get the hint. "Amy, I'm not trying to be cute. I'm just saying, I've got..." 

She interrupts. "Stuff. Yeah, you said. I'm not bitter or anything." 

"That's good. You shouldn't be bitter." He sighs again. Loudly. She ignores it. 

"You know, some guys might say I was cute," she tells him. He wonders what she's talking about. 

"Some guys might call you insane," he comments. 

"Josh," she warns. 

"I'm just saying, you shouldn't necessarily listen to guys. We don't always tell the truth." 

"You lying now?" she asks. 

"Probably." He pauses, sighs once more. "Listen Amy, I've got things to do." 

"You want me to go, don't you?" 

"Am I being too subtle?" 

"No. I'm just choosing to ignore you." She takes the pen back off him, spinning it quickly round her fingers. He opens his drawer and retrieves another. 

She looks at him, unimpressed. 

"Josh!" he hears Donna call from the bullpen. "Will's taking us out for drinks, you coming?" she shouts. 

"Just a minute," he calls back. 

He looks at Amy. He stands, puts his work into a semi-ordered pile, and grabs his coat. 

"I thought you were busy?" she asks, eyebrow raised. 

"It's free beer," he explains as though it should mean something to her. "Work can wait." 

"You know, you could invite me to join you," she comments. 

"Yeah, I could," he replies. He puts his coat on, picks up his backpack and slings it over his shoulder. He looks at her briefly before he turns off the light, then exits. 

She sits in the dark a minute and wonders where it all went wrong. She wonders how she can get his attention again, then realises she never will. 

He's got other distractions.


End file.
